


Watching You Watch Him (Friend to the Undertow)

by myownspark



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Edging, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Heterosexual Sex, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Making Love, Mammary Intercourse, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings, RPF, Sophiam, Top!Harry, Voyeurism, bottom!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownspark/pseuds/myownspark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While vacationing in Fiji, Louis and Harry accidentally stumble upon Liam getting edged by Sophia. Then Louis helps Harry find nirvana. There's voyeurism and porn but a character study and lots of fluff too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching You Watch Him (Friend to the Undertow)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by Eric Hutchinson, subtitle from the song “Undertow” by Suzanne Vega  
> Disclaimer: This is real person fiction. None of this ever happened.

They walk along the sandy footpath in the late dusk, smelling the last of the afternoon rain shower and the flowers that line the way. The birds are all in for the night; the only sounds now are the bass drum of surf some distance away and their sandals flip-flopping against the flagstones.

Fiji is more gorgeous than Louis and Harry remember, and they are proud to show it off for Liam and Sophia who have joined them for their last four days.  Tonight they were supposed to have had dinner together, but after four beers, six spicy snapper fritters and a mango salad there had been no Liam and Sophia, and no text to explain.  Harry wants to check in on them to make sure Liam isn’t in hospital, sun-poisoned or stung by a jellyfish.  Anyway, he says, they should have a chat about tomorrow’s plan for jet skiing.

The resort has only eight villas, so it had been easy for them to buy out the place for privacy. Liam’s is not far from Louis and Harry’s, tucked in next to a coconut palm-lined cove. Harry thinks that their small, temporary slice of the world already feels like a comfy and familiar neighborhood.  

As they approach the villa they can see the soft glow of lamplight showing through the wide wooden blinds in the windows. They make their way over the patio stones and move toward the door, but Harry abruptly ducks off the path, backing up and pulling Louis with him to the corner of the little cottage.

“Jesus, they’re …  I think they’re … doing it!” He holds Louis to him by the waist but points and whispers with large and sparkly eyes, like he’s just seen Father Christmas.

Louis moves to glance around the corner through the window. “Shit.” He can tell Harry is right just by the glimpse; it’s that rhythm of color and movement that can only mean one thing. Just the flash of it makes Louis’ heart throb a burst of heat, and he moves quickly back around the corner.

He turns to Harry and their eyes meet just long enough for questions and answers to pass back and forth in the silence. Louis shakes his head and rubs his fingers over the short whiskers on his chin. “Nah, man, we shouldn’t.”

“Right,” Harry says slowly. “Absolutely shouldn’t.”  He sucks in his bottom lip. Louis searches his face and watches the breeze catch a curl that didn’t make it into his bun. He needs anything to look at, to get focused on, anything to distract him from looking into that glowing space again. A snapshot of Liam tangled up with Sophia clicks behind his eyes, and he knows he’ll never leave if he takes another look.

Harry tilts his head toward the other side of the patio. “Angle’s better over there.” He takes Louis’ hand as he flips off his sandals, leaving them in a pile under the window. “Fuck,” Louis breathes, toeing his off too, and they pad to the other side, creeping like they are playing at hide-and-seek.

At first glance Harry had thought that Sophia was on top of Liam on a sofa; now that they have a better view they see that Liam’s sitting naked in an armless high-backed chair while Sophia, naked too, is kneeling in front of him between his legs, her hands moving steadily over his lap. Liam’s wrists are tied loosely to the chair with what look like ribbons, his elbows slightly bent at his sides so his palms can grip the seat.

Harry and Louis look at each other in the dim glow of the light, struck dumb but with eyes wide and wondering, somewhere in that place between embarrassed and oddly fascinated. Harry follows Louis’ gaze back into the room, and this time Harry notices the pillow under Sophia’s knees.

“How long d’you think have they’ve been at this?” Harry whispers.

“Well, they missed dinner … awhile, I guess …” The words fall out of Louis’ mouth but he can’t properly concentrate. Sophia is kneeling comfortably on her pillow, her tan hands with their short unpolished nails sliding confidently over Liam’s cock. She’s giving her wrist a twist at the top and varying the speed a little, watching Liam’s face intently.

“Look how she’s watching him,” Louis says, transfixed. He sees the couple’s eyes lock together for a long moment, but then Liam looks down at her hands for a few beats, his brown eyes drinking in the work she’s doing. They can tell by the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing is quickening.

Harry stands behind Louis, his hands on either shoulder, peeking just over the top of his head.

Liam’s mouth is hanging open, his biceps flexing and pressing tightly in at his sides as her rhythm gets faster. She’s talking to him. Her lips are moving and her eyebrows rise, like it’s a question; he manages a smile back at her, his eyes fond for a moment before they go hooded.

“We should go,” Louis whispers. There’s never been a party he hasn’t been willing to crash, truly, but this … this is his best mate tangled up in an intimate, very vulnerable knot with his naked girlfriend. Louis finds this situation at the top of the remarkably short list in his mind titled “Sacred.” But even so, he’s having trouble making his legs move.

Liam’s hips are shifting now, and soon his legs tense up and his lips go slack. He says just a word to her and she stills, her hand keeping a firm grasp on him just under the head of his cock.  His hips buck up into it one last time, and they see him take a deep breath while she holds him, and he seems to melt back into the chair. His legs splay out and her hands pat his thigh in little circles, comforting him.

“Whoa,” and “oh, shit,” Harry and Louis whisper over each other at the same time. “Did she…” Harry begins, as they stare.

“Apparently,” Louis replies.  Now he doesn’t know what list to file this under. “Huh,” is all he can manage as they gape through the glass. In a moment he pulls it together enough to grasp at one of Harry’s hands, pulling him away from the window.

“Lou, you’re gonna leave him like this?” Harry asks, not budging.

“Gonna leave _them_ , Haz, yeah.”

“How can we … I mean,” Harry looks at Louis and then back to the window. He gestures toward them with a worried look.

Louis keeps his voice low. “I’m like, fifty-three point eight percent with you on this, babe, but …” Louis swallows and runs a hand through his hair.

“He needs us right now, Lou, to support him.” Harry’s whisper is insistent.   “For …,” Harry shrugs as he looks for the words, “… support.” It’s the only one he can come up with.

Louis shakes his head with a snicker. “Haz, I _guarantee_ you he doesn’t need our support right now.”

Harry green eyes are grave. “We can’t leave him.”  Support, yes, but there is so much more he’s trying to put his finger on. Encouragement? Cheerleading? Empathy? Harry doesn’t know.  He just knows that they have to stay.  They are in this together somehow, just like everything else.

“Haz,” Louis says, urging, with a tug on his gauzy sleeve. But Harry’s eyes are accusing now, eyebrows creased, like Louis is the bad guy, Louis wants to leave the hungry puppy shivering in the rain.

“Lou, he’s _tied_ to a _chair_. It’s like …” Harry is searching for a way to explain this feeling. He can’t quite name it. The thing is, Harry’s gut is never wrong, and Louis knows it.

“He’s in the fucking _trenches_ , Lou. We’re not leaving him.”

And that is that.

< x x <

Liam is panting in the chair; his legs are restless with unspooling tension, and he’s watching Sophia spread a thin sheen of lube over her breasts.

“Oh God, he can’t take that,” Louis whispers matter-of-factly.

“Nope. He loves her boobs,” Harry agrees. They watch, rapt, as she tosses her hair back over her shoulders. Harry thinks she is beautiful. He has seen her in her bathing suit, but naked Sophia is different; she seems more broad-shouldered, more casually strong and agile. He thinks she is quite like the kind of beauty where a pirate would carve her out in wood and fix her to the bow of a sailing ship, or a bomber pilot would have her painted on the side of his plane. 

“She’s kind of … a bombshell,” Harry whispers to Louis with a bit of awe.

Louis looks at him with a grin. “Innit? Makes sense, though, since he’s, like … Thor.”

They watch her look up at him. She is saying something as she glides her hands over his thighs toward his cock. He nods, although Louis thinks he can see a hint of something else in his eyes.

She brings her body forward, clasping the sides of her breasts with her hands. Liam bites his lip as she comes closer, watching her cradle his length between them, elbows in toward her body.  Her movement is slow at the start, but she rises from her thighs smoothly, like a dancer, Harry thinks. She takes a full ten seconds for her first two strokes and Liam rolls his hips with her in a wave each time, his hands helping to press himself up off the seat.  He is saying something to her now, and she looks up at him and smiles. He returns it tenderly, with eyes so expressive that Louis has to look down to his feet in the sand.

“Maybe we should go, Haz,” Louis suggests again, without really meaning it.

Harry leans down to Louis’ ear. “Maybe we should,” he whispers, without really meaning it. Their legs don’t move, only their eyes, first to each other, and then back to them through the glass. Harry rubs his nose through Louis’ hair, and with his mouth against his neck he whispers, “Can I touch you?”

Sophia is rising and falling over him more quickly now, with her head down, and Louis can imagine she’s licking the top of his cock on every downstroke. Harry is still standing behind Louis, but now one arm is sliding down past Louis’ waist, palming his thickening length over his shorts.

Liam’s head bows, his whole upper body caving forward over her, fists clenched as her movements rock him in the chair. She’s moving fast; they can see her hair jostling against her back each time she comes down over him. His legs are curving around hers too, keeping her in close. Soon he presses his face toward hers and his lips are moving against her cheek.  She pulls away abruptly, but again grasps his cock firm with her fist under the head. His torso heaves forward in an arc, and his head drops to her shoulder.  Then he is still.

“He did it,” Harry says with a sigh, as they watch Liam lean back again.

“Whoa. That’s a good lad.” Louis says, incredulous. Harry has opened Louis’ fly, and he feels himself spring into his warm palm. Harry starts a gentle pace, dry but smooth, and every few strokes draw a quiet moan from Louis’ throat.

Liam flexes his fists open and closed while his breathing slows, and Louis notices a luster of sweat over his chest. He is a stunning piece of work, his skin rosy and muscles full in the soft light of the room. Sophia is resting her hands on his knees and he smiles at her, his bright Liam smile that has a measure of tired inside it, though it reaches all the way to his eyes. He shakes his head no after she asks him something, and she reaches up to cradle his face.  He leans into it with a softer breath, and closes his eyes.

“Think he’s going to go again?” Louis asks, concerned.

“Looks like he has to take a minute.  She’s so … good with him,” Harry says with wonder in his voice, and he is momentarily distracted, loosening his grip on Louis a bit. 

“Hmm,” he agrees, “she is, isn’t she. That’s good.”  He holds his hand over Harry’s, stroking his long fingers, and all at once he figures out that what is going on here is something different than what he’d first assumed. This doesn’t seem to be about discipline; Liam isn’t being dominated or humiliated. There is no sharpness here, no following orders or snapping to attention. His wrists are tied, yes, but from what he’s seen it’s so Liam can make sure he can’t give in and help himself over the edge. He must be trying to see how far he can go and still get back, and he doesn’t want to cheat.  Louis thinks this is very _Liam_ , covering all his bases, leaving nothing to chance. He’s in the trenches, all right, the trenches where he’s testing his limits, walking the line over and over between keeping control and losing it completely. And in this trench, it seems that he trusts Sophia more than he trusts himself.

“Haz?” he begins, wanting to ask Harry about his theory. But he can’t finish because Liam’s whole chest is rising with a last deep breath before he gives Sophia a nod. She comes forward over him again, starting slow, gathering him up between the soft skin of her breasts. Three strokes in and he’s leaning back, moving his hips to the edge of the chair, head tipping back over its top rail.  She picks up speed and he’s looking at the ceiling, pressing his lips together. Harry can see the tendons in his jaw tense, and he tightens his hold on Louis who is leaning back against him now, reaching back for Harry’s fly. Harry holds his hand still and whispers, “Later, yeah?”

Sophia’s hair is falling forward, curtaining over Liam’s lap, and the ends graze the top of his thighs and stomach as she moves. The muscles there stiffen and relax in time with her strokes, and he gathers her closer to him the only way he can, encircling her with his legs. She’s pressing her breasts together with each stroke and her head bobs, taking him into her mouth and letting him go. The rhythm is a familiar beat that they fall into steadily, and soon Liam’s face twists into a grimace and the muscles in his limbs go rigid all at once; she pulls away again and this time lets his cock hover in the air between them, rising toward his body in an arc. Liam’s feet scrabble at the floor a bit, and she puts her hands on them and gives them a squeeze.

“Bloody hell,” says Louis, a little breathless. “They did it again.”

< x x <

“She’s … she’s standing up.” Harry says.

Louis’ face is pressed against the thin fabric of Harry’s shirt. He reaches up and pulls Harry’s face down, catching his lips, but Harry’s eyes are open, still following the scene beyond the glass.

“She’s pinching,” a kiss, and another, “pinching his…” and that makes Louis gasp into Harry’s mouth. He wishes Harry would demonstrate instead of narrate.

“Show me,” he says, and Harry begins to imitate Sophia’s movements, his hands rising up and finding Louis' nipples under under the soft cotton of his tee shirt. Louis staggers on his feet just a little, his hardness grazing against Harry’s fully clothed crotch and his mouth hanging open for his tongue.

“You sure you don’t want me to …” Louis asks, sliding his hands around to the back of Harry’s low-slung waistband and tucking his fingers underneath.

“I’m sure, later,” Harry manages. But he doesn’t stop Louis from grasping his butt cheeks tight, doesn’t stop him from standing on tiptoe to kiss all across his cheeks up to his forehead and eyes, and doesn’t stop him from sucking his tongue out of his mouth and taking his breath away.

< x x <

Sophia rises to her feet and stretches her hands above her head. She reaches over to the table and grabs a bottle of water, smiles gently and waves it in front of Liam in offering. Something in the way she moves is mesmerizing, and all three of them are captivated as she casually unscrews the cap and takes a few decidedly unfeminine gulps.

She reaches down and unties one of Liam’s wrists, and he shakes it out from the elbow. He flexes the fingers for a while and brings the arm across his chest to stretch it before he runs his hand through his hair, then reaches out for the bottle. He drinks at least half of it down before returning it to her, then rests his hand on his thigh, watching her drink.  His cock is rigid and must be weeping just inches from his grasp, but he makes no move to touch it. When she’s done she kisses his hand before placing it back on the seat, and reties the ribbon loosely.  Louis and Harry look at each other, the observation unspoken.

< x x <

Darkness is settling around them in earnest now, but the breeze is still warm on their skin.  Their faces are lit by the glow from inside the villa. Louis can’t see what she’s doing because her long hair is in the way, but he knows for sure that she’s licking up his cock all the way from the base to tip. Liam is watching her intently – his head is tilted to get a better view around her face – and for a few moments he actually looks relaxed. His lips are soft and pliant, not pinned together as they have been, and his breathing looks even and quiet. She holds one of his hands as she works, covering the ribbon and stroking his fingers with hers.  This is the valley between the mountains, Harry thinks, the eye of the storm. He kisses Louis’ ear, drags his tongue down the side of his neck.

“Had you any idea that Liam was such a … studly … tantric … ninja?”

Louis huffs out a sound that is half laugh, half purr. “Had my suspicions on the studly part, but the rest … no clue.”

Just then she takes a different tack; she pushes his calves apart, caressing his knees, before she bends down low from her waist. Liam jolts up away from the chair then, and Louis knows Sophia’s got one of Liam’s balls in her mouth.

Louis’ sigh sounds shaky. “This might be it, love.”

Harry skims Louis’ ear with his lips as he answers, and the low rumble of his whisper makes Louis’ neck hairs stand on end. “No, I don’t think so. I think he’s holding out … for the, kind of, main event, yeah?” His hand is firm and warm over Louis’ cock again, and he’s picking up the rhythm steadily.  He releases it just long enough to lick his palm. When he slides his fist over Louis again it’s a smoother slide that makes them shiver and gasp in a breath. Louis feels himself start to leak, and Harry brushes his thumb over his tip, rubbing the wetness in just under the head.

“Maybe he can’t,” Louis counters, a note of alarm peaking in his voice. “Maybe he won’t be able to stop.” His head drops back against Harry’s shoulder, so blessedly solid and strong behind him.

Sophia’s head is moving slowly over Liam’s lap, while she presses his knees farther apart, opening him up, giving herself more real estate to say grace over. He looks down at her as he flexes his fists, instinctively reaching out to touch her, but his arms strain against the loops. He tips his chin at her as if to say, “Go on, then,” and she does, faster now, clearly taking him all the way down.

“Want me to give you a blowjob, Lou?”

Louis shakes his head and grits his teeth. He can’t imagine being able to hold himself up if Harry went to his knees in front of him. And there isn’t a way in the world he’d be able to last if Harry takes him in his mouth while Liam is coming apart on that chair twenty feet away. “No, babe,” Louis whispers, “S’better right where you are.” 

This time she moves her hand down between her legs, and Liam’s jaw slackens and his eyebrows crease as he watches her touch herself.

“He’s not gonna make it through this one.” Harry whispers. Louis knows that maybe he’s not talking about Liam.

But Liam shocks them both by making it through, and Louis shocks no one by not.

< x x <

“I’m really thirsty, babe.” Louis is all buttoned back up, standing on wobbly legs and still using Harry for balance. He’s in that dreamy, just coming down place where all feels right with the world, if only he could have a long drink and a little nap. “Let’s sit, yeah?” They can still see through the window if they sit in the sand, and they decide on back-to-back so they can rest. 

“So, knock on the door,” Harry suggests. He snorts then, and smiles a wide smile with all his teeth, imagining. “Hey Li, eh …” he stops to giggle, “hey this is brilliant and all but … whatsa bloke have to do to get a drink? …” and he’s completely punchy, because this is not at all funny but he’s sputtering, “oh, I see you’re tied up right now.”  He loses it a little then, stifling laughter with his hands over his mouth, while Louis rolls his eyes.

“Tied up, Lou…” Harry repeats, and it dawns on Louis suddenly how mad this is, camped out in the dark of a desert island, making sure their best mate doesn’t edge himself to death.  But Harry’s glee is contagious, and Louis feels himself slide into silly.

“No, no, Li, don’t get up…” Louis adds, straight-faced, as Harry grips his arms and fully keels over.

Louis allows himself a giggle while Harry properly fits. Of all the mad adventures they’ve had ….  he rolls his eyes again, and when he looks up through the palm fronds the sky is as black as he’s ever seen, shot through with strange stars. Some look blue, some look yellow; there is even a pink one here and there. A few look close enough to touch.

Harry settles himself, humming and sighing off the last of his snickers. He sees Louis gazing up, and he begins to study the sky too.

“I like it here, Lou.”

“ _Here_ , here?” says Louis, gesturing in a circle where they sit. “Or here?” He spreads his arms wide and up.

“ _Here_ ,” Harry whispers, stroking Louis’ back under his shirt. “In my life.”

Louis ponders this. The life so full they have two people whose only job is keeping their calendars. The life so famous that they have to buy out an entire resort so they can swim and play and get some sleep.  The life of a love some say is scandalous, that they can’t speak about or act on in public. But it’s a life where they can’t have one without those others, so intertwined, that Louis can’t figure out who he would be without Harry, doesn’t even want to imagine it. Louis decides he quite likes it here too.

When the words “I love you” don’t quite cut it, or can’t be spoken in present company, Louis asks Harry a question that is impossible to answer.  It’s a trick that was born out of necessity in the XFactor house, where they were surrounded by cameras and minders. _It’s a code_ , Louis had offered, _just for us, nobody else will know._ It seems like they were just kids then, before they began speaking their love transparently, if silently, with tattoos.

“How many stars are there, Haz?”

Harry feels like singing. But instead he replies, “How many colors are there, boo?”

< x x <

Sophia waves her flat palm in front of her face, pantomiming that she’s hot. Or maybe she means that Liam’s hot. Or that it’s just _hot_.  She gathers her hair behind her neck and efficiently pulls it into a twisted bun. She reaches for a rubber band from the side table, and as she secures it Liam is gazing at her with curiosity and more than a little longing.

Louis is struck by how at ease she is in her body, her utter lack of pretense. In that room it is plain that they are perfectly matched partners, proper equals. He likes the way she doesn’t tiptoe around Liam, or fawn over him. Hell, she’s known him since school, since he was a teenager running track and singing at fairs; the thought has probably never crossed her mind. He feels good that Liam has her, this lovely, strong girl who goes back farther with him than any of the lads, who sees, talks to, and makes love to the boy from Wolverhampton, not the singer from One Direction.

“He’s lucky, y’know?” Louis says quietly.

Harry considers this. “Yeah,” he drawls, nodding into Louis’ shoulder. “But she’s luckier.”

< x x <

She’s got her hands on the top rail of the chair, behind Liam’s head. She’s not putting any of her weight on him; the only place they are touching is between her legs, where the thickness of his cock joins them together and holds her in place. It isn’t hard for Harry to imagine how completely maddening it’s got to be for him, to be touching her only inside that wet softness that must be gripping him tight. She’s rising and falling slowly on him, her thighs angling out to the sides in a plié, and Harry thinks this might be Liam’s last straw.

“C’mon, Li, c’mon,” Harry says under his breath. He brings his hands up to either side of his face, covering his nose and mouth, like he’s watching a pivotal moment in a football match. He is stressed, watching Liam’s face for a sign of struggle. It’s faint but it’s there, Harry can see the clamp of his jaw under his beard. Harry’s heart goes out to him; he thinks he can literally feel it floating out in front of him, reaching out to Liam in solidarity, or maybe bolstering him with strength, or encouragement, or … something.

“C’mon … c’mon,” he says again.

“Come on what?” Louis asks, rubbing his back in an attempt to calm him. “Come on, come? Or come on, hang in there?”

Harry rubs his face. “Dunno. I guess I just … want him to be able to … stay on top of it, yeah? Stay ahead of it. Don’t want to see him get blindsided by it when he comes.”

Louis thinks a minute. Harry sees the concern veil his face.

“Sucker punched,” Louis agrees, looking back through the glass. “Shit.”  He sighs and gives his chin a rub. “C’mon, lad,” he offers, and starts to bite his thumbnail.

He can do it, Louis thinks, he can. This is _Liam_ , for fuck’s sake. Fireproof Liam.  Mind-over-matter Liam. Sit-ups-with-a-kettlebell-over-your-head Liam, who will jump in the middle of a prying interview to help the boys swerve, keeping the sharks at bay.  He’s the one who wants to be a fireman because firemen save people, the one who takes the telling off for them when the prank he didn’t even know about crosses the line. Liam who is brave, valiant even, and loyal to a fault.

Louis’ chest tightens a little, because in that room is also the just-one-more-time-lads-it’s-not-quite-right Liam, the measure-the-cereal-so-everyone-gets-the-same Liam, and the I-can’t-sleep-Lou-‘cause-I’m-thinking-about-that-mean-sign Liam. That Liam has an ego that gets wounded sometimes, along with a sweet heart that breaks every so often, and, most unfortunately, an exacting, ever-present, unyielding standard for himself. When that heart breaks or that standard is unmet, the fallout can be devastating, where a clap on the back and a “chin up, mate” are not nearly enough to fix it.  Louis closes his eyes and says a quick prayer to whichever god rules over these things.  

“He’s gonna be all right,” he says, and Harry hears it as an affirmation. He is grateful for how good Louis is at willing things to be true.

< x x <

She’s taking him fully in and completely letting him go, and every time she rises his cock slips out, glistening and weighty between her legs. She guides it back in each time with the tips of her fingers, and Liam can stand to look the first five or six times; after that his head falls back on the top rail, eyes swimming.  They think she might be moaning as she goes, her lips making shapes of o’s and ah’s, but her eyes are on his face, and the pace never quickens.  It looks like he’s just basking in her there, in her body and in her sound, because his eyes are soft and his mouth turns up into a faint smile. But before long he says something that pulls her up short and has her shaking her head gently.

“What’s this?” Louis asks without realizing it.

Whatever it is, Liam wants it and Sophia’s not sure. Louis and Harry turn to each other, uneasy.

She steps back from him a bit, and he’s nodding to her as he bites his lip. She’s hesitating, but they know she can’t refuse his earnest eyes, and they are not surprised to see her move back toward him and put her hands on his shoulders. He adjusts himself on the chair, pushing his hips out toward the front edge. She steps closer when he gets there, straddling him again and slowly falling forward, her breast in front of his mouth.

Liam takes in the nipple straightaway, which makes her throw her head back while their bodies curve in an unmistakable arc toward joining. She hovers over him just outside the reach of his cock, but they can imagine her hair is brushing over him, teasing. His hands grip the chair seat white-knuckled as she lets him suck over her, and they can tell by the ripple in her butt cheeks and the way her head collapses against him that she’s getting close, too. Now her arms have started to shiver.

“They’re both close,” Harry says softly.

She takes him in one more time effortlessly, not needing to guide him, and they both stiffen for a long moment, frozen in expressions that could look like pain if they boys didn’t know better. They are nose to nose and eye to eye, breathing against each other’s mouths. She gives him two or three steady circles with her hips, but she can tell he’s not going to last, and when he shakes his head she rises up and off of him with a kiss.

Harry and Louis exhale together in a long sigh. “That was the last one,” Louis says, confidently, bending over and running his hands through his hair. “Jesus, Li, let that be the last one,” is what he really means.

< x x <

Liam and Sophia kiss constantly. They always have. Harry thinks it’s because when your lips were built to fit against each other, perfectly proportioned and divinely engineered to be a precise match like his and Louis’, that’s just what you do. Whether it’s just a peck at the kitchen counter or a goodbye kiss before a plane ride, turning over in the middle of the night or getting in or out of the shower, it seems to Harry to be a no-brainer:  you just kiss. A lot.

But this kiss, Harry finds, the kiss when Liam is inside her, this is a different animal entirely. It’s gorgeous, really, an unhurried interweave of tongues and lips that hold and slide and cushion, tasting and being tasted at the same time. It’s breathless but it’s alive, purposeful; they are holding each other’s voices, their groans and gasps, with their lips.

He’s glad that Sophia likes to hold Liam. She can hold him six different ways, by his count; she’s holding him with one of her arms crooked around his back; she’s holding his face with one hand, stroking his beard; she’s holding him with one of her legs wrapped around the frame of his hip to the back of the chair; she’s holding him with her eyes locked on his; and she’s holding him with her mouth and her body around his cock. He can’t do any of that, save gather her up with his legs when he can and caress her with that tender look. But in the kiss he can embrace her, lock her into him, stop her in her tracks.

More than anything else, it is watching this kiss that causes the stutter in Harry’s heart and the throb in his pants. Louis’ hand is there, pressing down on the spongy bulge that’s on its way to hard. Harry just laces their fingers together. “Later.”

“Promise?”

“Mm hmm.  I promise.”

< x x <

Their eyes are open. She holds his face in her hands, tracing his ears with her fingertips as she starts to move, undulating against his lap in a regular beat of back and forth rather than up and down. It’s a dance of closer and farther, inhale and exhale, closer and farther. Their kiss isn’t broken through it, but rather becomes a mirror for what’s happening at his lap. Liam’s solid torso becomes a brace for her to use as she opens up the pace, and the boys can see her lips twist into a frown as she focuses.   The slight pulsing crush of her butt cheeks gives away what is going on inside.  Liam is shifting his legs, bracing his feet against the floor for leverage to get his hips up, and the look on his face is one that they haven’t seen all night, pure anticipation. 

Her supple form begins to take a stronger shape, rising up away from him, intensity building. They can see her neck now that her hair is up, and the line of her spine down her back to her round bottom is a sensuous curve that again surprises Harry with its simple beauty.

She looks at Liam with pleading eyes.  There is an exchange of nods and then there it is, she’s reaching down to untie the ribbons at his wrists and Liam’s arms are free.

Louis bites his lip to stifle a throaty yell with fists pumping. Harry bends over and claps his palms to his forehead, sighing out a long “yes.” They fist bump and half-hug quick before they look back for the last act.

She’s draped over him like a flower with her head dropped in the crook of his neck, and Louis thinks this is the first time she has looked delicate, almost fragile, because with his arms free Liam has grown, it seems, to twice his former size, like he’s back to full power after having been weakened by kryptonite.  She nuzzles him in the embrace, resting for a moment in it. He strokes over her back but his arms are trembling, too long in one position, and he shakes one out from his shoulder. She begins to massage them, kneading and pressing on the muscles, and they laugh together. She motions over to the sofa, but he shakes his head, and they kiss again.

The longing Louis sees in Liam’s eyes makes him have to look away. “Won’t be long now, yeah?” he says. There’s a jitter in his voice that makes Harry bite his lip.

Their movement now is small but focused and intense; he’s lifting her and settling her down gently from her waist. They are pressed together flush from lap to shoulders; her breasts are pushed against his chest in a crush.  Sophia pecks kisses over his face while they move, and he licks up her neck and caresses her jaw with his tongue. He moves his hands to cup her bottom, pressing into her soft skin. She changes her movement to more of a swivel, smooth and round across his lap. Her kisses turn into a drag across his cheek with her open mouth, and they see her eyebrows are starting to wrinkle.  Liam sees it too, shifts under her and begins to lift her higher. 

Her soft fingers turn clawlike and scrape down over his chest, and at once the pretty, graceful dance they’ve been doing turns into hard and fast fucking. Every gentle stroke and cautious touch has led here, where instinct takes over, bodies slam together, and voices get growly.  To Harry it is suddenly and beautifully brutal; he’s raising her up like she weighs nothing at all, pulling out more each time, and driving her down hard over him with his arms.  She throws her head back to take a deep breath, but it comes forward again to thump against Liam’s shoulder, and the muscles in her back constrict with a new tension.  It isn’t long before they can see a skip in her pace where the smooth repetitive motion goes wobbly on its track.  

Louis heart flutters hotly as he watches.  “She’s coming,” he whispers, feeling Harry’s arms around his waist tighten.

Now that the moment has arrived, Harry’s not sure he can watch. Once he sees this, he won’t be able to _un_ -see it; kind of like when he watched that movie with Tom Hanks about the war and that soldier picked up his own arm on the beach at Normandy. The sight had burned into the hard drive of his brain and had popped up unbidden for the next two days; he can still conjure it up today in Technicolor and it makes him nauseous. But this is about love, isn’t it? And Liam’s not losing any limbs. All the same, he bites the fabric on the shoulder of Louis’ tee shirt, and screws his eyes shut with a groan.

“It’s happening.” Louis says, smacking him on the thigh. “Harry!”

“Can’t look,” he mumbles.

“He’s out of the trenches, babe. He looks …”

“What?” Harry asks, perking up. “How’s he look?”

“He looks brilliant, babe.”

Harry looks. Every muscle is taut, nestled in between the soft brace of Sophia’s legs, and his fingers clutch her bottom, sinking into the flesh.  He rolls his shoulders with his head thrown back like he’s swimming to the surface, or shrugging out of a shirt. For the first time all night they can hear their voices; Liam’s rising groan and Sophia’s astonished cries are muffled through the glass, along with the rhythmic muted slap of their skin.

Louis’ heart is hammering and his shorts are uncomfortable again, and Harry is squeezing his hands painfully.  “That’s it, Li, now,” he hears Harry say softly, relief in every word.

Still he pushes her down onto him to get deeper, and the rhythm falters into a concentrated, pulsing start and stop, with her body clamped tight to him. Her head is burrowed in his outstretched neck, and they see every muscle under her skin tense and release, wringing themselves out. Liam yells out a final groan, and they hold each other still, suspended for a moment, only their labored breathing showing in the rise and fall of her back. The stiffness devolves into all curves and softness and their tight clinch goes slack.

It isn’t until some moments later when Liam and Sophia have turned into a tangle of lazy caresses and gentle kisses that Harry and Louis relax too. The tension that had tightened their shoulders and stiffened their legs drains out, leaving them loose and tingly. Louis blows the air out of his cheeks with a long sigh and watches Harry scrub over his face with a shake of his head. When Harry looks at him his face is flushed and grinning in a way Louis thinks looks almost proud. Louis wants to say something that closes this chapter, ties it up in a funny quip, but he thinks the better of it and bites his lip instead. Harry is the first to stand, and this time it’s Louis' turn to keep them here.

“Feels weird, like … we should say g’night … or something,” he says. It’s hard to break away, even now.

Harry tilts his head, deliberating, and pulls out his phone. He types as Louis looks on.

H: Missed you at dinner. Turning in now. All good?

Inside, Sophia is moving to get up. Liam watches her go to the couch and plop down, stretching and then curling her legs under her, burrowing into the cushions and covering up with a thin blanket. He rises on shaky legs and passes her the water bottle. His phone is on the side table, and he reaches for it.

L:   sorry mate, all good just knackrd, see you in the am?

H:   K. come round 10

L:    K

H:    L says 11

L:    K this place is amazing we love it here

He’s shifting to cuddle behind her on the couch now, and Harry is pleased they’re finally resting somewhere soft.

H:    good night

L:    night

Their minds are scrambling over thoughts and images as they half-walk half-jog from Liam’s back to their place, and they each hear only snippets of what the other says out loud.  Harry hears “but Haz, his fucking _guns_ ,” and “do you think he was saying?” and Louis hears “like a photograph” and “room service” and “rug burn.” Some thoughts they will keep to themselves, like Harry’s conclusion that a proper snog from Liam would slay him for days, as well as Louis’ deep-down truth that from the first glimpse, a horde of orcs couldn’t have dragged him away from that window. 

< x x <

Undressing each other had been the easy part, done in nine seconds flat. All the rest was a punishing exercise in patience that drove Louis near mad. Dragging the chair to the bedroom suite was a chore done eagerly, as was the search for something to tie Harry’s wrists. But the mood had turned slightly cranky when the first headscarf was found to be too short, and finding Harry’s longer one had been difficult, given Louis’s tendency to spread their belongings over every square yard of living space. Their last delay was to share a massive bottle of water, by which time Louis had begun to pout.  But Harry had pushed, saying they would be glad for it later, and Louis had grudgingly given in.

They are settled in now, Harry’s wrists tied lightly, with Louis kneeling in front of him. They’ve made it through six rounds together.

They agree that they are extremely good at it, given that it’s their first shot out of the gate. Louis thinks that maybe they have the perfect personalities for this. He knows he himself is all spinning and buzzing energy pushing out in front; he likes nothing better than making things happen, creating a spark as he goes, dusting up the place to see what happens. But Harry is calm, tucked serenely inside his body most of the time, feeling best when he _allows_ things to happen, letting things unfold, creating space for them. Together it just works. It is a balance of each other’s extremes that Louis had noticed three days into bootcamp, and that balance has buoyed them over rough water every day for years.

But just as Harry is the only one who can concentrate Louis' energy and anchor it down in a center, only Louis can fracture that composure of Harry’s, unraveling it until the edges fray. He doesn’t set out to wreck Harry that way, and it doesn’t happen every time.  But there are moments, and to Louis they feel like presents, rare gifts Harry offers only to him, that he unwraps with awe and cherishes fiercely.

There is the first one, from the sofa at XFactor, where the two had been twisted up together fully clothed and Harry had looked at him with begging eyes just before they watched his hands tremble involuntarily as he reached for Louis’ fly.  There is the one from the bunk of the tour bus, where Harry’s breathing had stuttered and quivers had spasmed in his belly before he had nearly come in his pants, all just from Louis kissing him slow and deep and singing softly into his ear. Then there is the one from home, the one that had scared Louis a little, where he had turned Harry over and saw that his eyes had gone teary and his teeth had begun to chatter. Louis had panicked, wanting to stop, but Harry wouldn’t let him; he had pulled Louis in close, his leaking eyes hazy but his voice commanding through the soft clicking of his teeth, _don’t stop, don’t_ ever _stop doing that to me_.

The memory makes Louis bear down deeper over Harry’s cock, his tongue swiping the underside as he takes it in. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care if it’s his own touch or the aftereffect of the evening they’ve had; all that matters is Harry is edging closer each time they go at this, going deeper into the depths without completely letting go, and Louis is amused to find that he has endless patience waiting for Harry to recover in between.

Louis’ mouth is meeting his hand, thumb circling across the top every few strokes. He pumps the slick length of him more quickly, until Harry’s eyes close and his chin drops to his chest. An “ugh” and a hiss, and Louis knows he should be careful now by the way he is raising his thighs up and curling his toes into the rug.

Harry is mumbling, “Close … close … m’close.” He is trying to look away but can’t as Louis raises the ring of his fingers to just the head and strokes him short and quick.  It’s so slippery and coaxing and he wants it and he has to dig his fingers into the seat of the chair to keep from being dragged under like a rag doll.  

“Now, stopstop  now …”  Louis lets Harry go with one more smooth tug, and then one fist is gripping tight and still under the head while the other rests on Harry’s trembling thigh. 

Louis holds his breath as he waits for Harry’s face to relax. His own cock is stiff and pulsing, but he resists the urge to touch it; there is no room for teasing here.

Harry’s eyes blink like he’s waking up. “Again,” he says after a breath, more than a little triumph in his voice.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, loosening his grip. “Y’sure?”

“I can get closer, yeah. Just one more time, though. Two, tops.” His knees have begun to bounce in tiny jittery movements, and Louis tries to still them with his hands as he rises to his feet.

“Can I…?” Louis gestures to Harry’s hair.

“Yeah, but gentle, ok? It might … send me…”

“Relax, baby, breathe,” Louis whispers, and dips down for a kiss; Harry’s lips are hot and dry. He sucks at the bottom one, tastes it with his tongue. Their lips are still connected as he reaches up and pulls the rubber band out of Harry’s hair and lets it fall, running his fingers over his scalp to ease it down. Harry groans at this, the tiny pulls making the nerve endings tingle. He feels his nipples go prickly and goose bumps rise on his thighs. He squeezes Louis’ naked legs with his.

“Get on top of me, baby.”

Louis grabs the lube from the floor and spreads some in his hands as he straddles Harry’s lap. He drips some over Harry’s cock and rubs it over gently. He coats himself too, letting out a moan when he feels the slick warmth of it. He snuggles in closer until he can grasp both their lengths together in his hands, sees Harry swallow hard with the first stroke. Louis can’t help but move his hips into the warm pocket his hands have made, and he looks up to see Harry’s face dissolve into a kind of scowl.

“Oh, that’s good Lou,” Harry whispers as he strains to fuck against Louis’ cock. Louis’s hands form a tight core around them that he holds firm while he leans over and takes one of Harry’s nipples in his mouth.  It’s strange not feeling Harry’s hands on him, and he can see his arms are straining against the ties, but he keeps on. There’s a saltiness on Harry’s skin that might be sweat or the sea; he sucks at it until the puffy nipple goes pebbly and then presses it between his teeth, flicking his tongue back and forth over it as he works his hands.

“Oh fuck … fuck,” Harry gasps.

“Tell me when  … ” Louis says, and gives him another lick.

With another few strokes Harry’s breathing gets choppy. His legs are swaying underneath them and his shoulders are rising toward his ears. Louis can see the fluttering in Harry’s torso and that’s it, he knows they need to stop before they’re past the point where Harry can’t resist the divide.

“Huh, now, quick!” Harry barks out, and Louis lets them go. Harry rolls his head back against the top rail, hair spilling over it as he hangs in the balance. Louis watches the birds rise and fall on his chest as he takes a few careful breaths.  There is a bright flush on Harry’s cheeks and his lips have filled in cherry red. I’m luckier, Louis thinks.

“You have to let my hands go, when I say, Lou, yeah? Just when I say,” Harry rambles, his breath still shaky.  He’s ready now, so ready; this next one is going to be it and Louis needs to know.

“Yeah, just when you say, baby.”

“You can do it quick, when I say?” Harry presses.

“Yep, gonna pull them out just like this, just when you say.” Louis shows him how he can slip his thumbs through the loose ties, both sides at once.  

Harry closes his eyes, relieved.  “S’gonna be huge, Lou,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t know how I’m …” and he trails off, closing his eyes and resting his head against the hard ear of the chair.

Louis holds his cheeks with both hands. “S’gonna be massive, can’t wait to see,” and they kiss again, but it’s not passionate and searching this time; to Louis it feels more like a sendoff, kind of a “good luck, Godspeed, I-know-you’ll-be-fine” kiss that they breathe through together. 

Harry breaks away, his eyes bright. “I want you to come, too.”

Louis’ grin is wicked. “Don’t worry about me, baby, I’ll be right there with ya.” He reaches for the lube again. “Inside me?"

“Yeah, inside you,” Harry agrees, and he watches as Louis gets himself ready. His hands clench to the seat of the chair, yearning to help. He can only lick and bite his lip, waiting. It’s letting him come down a little more though, which is good; he’s not sure how long he can last with the warmth and weight of Louis finally wrapped around him. The thought flies away when he feels Louis’ slippery hand making him wet with lube, his stomach clenching and his thighs getting tight.

One last nod to make sure they are on the same page and Louis lowers himself over Harry, guiding him inside with a slicked up hand. Their heads are side by side, jaw to cheek; Louis feels Harry’s torso shudder forward when he glides in and hears Harry’s breath huff out in short burst.  “Slower, slow,” Harry whispers.

Louis dips his head, still using his hand as a guide, trying to keep the rest of himself as still as possible so Harry can make it all the way in before getting too close to the edge. His mouth is opening against Harry’s cheek though, and he’s struggling not to make any noise. He grips Harry tight where his neck meets his body, curls curving over his hand. He brushes their chests together once, he can’t help himself, and then he’s down flush on Harry’s lap.

“All right?” Louis grits out, the question sounding a little more strained than he would have liked.

“Mm hmm,” says Harry, though he’s not moving and his jaw is tight. “Give me a sec … second.” And Louis does, still as he can be, though he’s yearning to draw his thighs up and dig his fingers into Harry’s broad bicep and lose a hand in his hair.  He reaches down for his leaking cock just to grasp it for some pressure while Harry gets his bearings. Simply breathing against each other seems to be too much so he tries to inhale slow and smooth, but he’s failing miserably; they are too close and he’s waited too long.  

Then it begins, Harry’s hips are moving under him, and Louis takes that as his cue that he can go. He feels like the dam’s been overtopped and his movements are like water, wavy and pliant.  He’s controlling the depth with his thighs, and soon his back is curving over with each surge. He still has his cock in one hand, and he strokes it lightly in time with the rise and fall of his hips. Harry’s groan sounds alive in his ear, it’s a long melodic sound rising around them, and Louis is getting lost in it, lost in the sound and the dragging push and pull of Harry inside him. He licks at Harry’s earlobe, bites it, hums a question into it that doesn’t make any sense, all adjectives and verbs. He aches for Harry’s arms around him, feels too exposed without them.

His eyes snap open when he realizes he can’t completely let go yet; he needs to keep it together long enough to release Harry’s hands. He looks at Harry’s face, trying gauge where he stands.

Harry looks up at Louis from under a wayward curl. His hips are arching up on their own, on an autopilot two million years old, but his arms are pinned at his sides, heightening a need for contact that is getting desperate.  Louis’ chest is flushing in rosy blooms under his tattoos, and Harry feels the tempo rise a bit, making him gasp. He focuses on Louis’ neck, trying to tamp down the tsunami that’s gaining on him, roaring at his heels. But Louis brings his face up to his with a hand under his chin and looks at him with questioning eyes.

“Now, baby?”

A short shake of his head and Louis is kissing him again, slowing the pace to a gentle rock. He can feel Louis’ hand brush against his stomach every time he pulls at his cock, and the weight of his thighs is exquisite against his lap. It is the rising and falling of this, the pushing and pulling, the perfect giving and taking that has him suddenly reeling. He forces his eyes to go unfocused so he doesn’t see it anymore and it can’t bring him any closer. He dissolves into a melt.

Everything is soft. Louis’ whiskers against his cheek are soft.  Louis’ hand on his shoulder is soft; the hair on their legs is soft. Even the muscles under their skin are soft now. The roll of their hips is a sweet velvet sleeve enveloping him. It could be a cloud. Or the silk of the sheets at home, the ones Louis got him for his birthday. Or that too-big jumper with the crazy sleeves that Louis burrows into when he’s sad. No, it’s the custard that he had layered into those trifles at Christmas, sherry and vanilla. He opens his mouth to taste it and it’s Louis’ tongue filling him, yes, sherry and vanilla. Slow and soft so Harry can close his eyes and float a while. That massive wave shrinks to a swell and he can pull away, putting some distance between them one last time.

His arms are loose and relaxed by his sides. He’s never tasted anything like this, but he could cry with how familiar it feels all the same. Right down to the molecule, perfect with every cell in its place and every system pumping easily together in tandem, with a center of effortless power simmering at the core, fueling it all. Lips are kissing, chests are grazing. Even the rigid top and center rails of this hard chair are perfect in the scheme of things now, giving him a stable support, holding him up to love Louis and be loved by him. His senses feel like they’ve bloomed into superdrive; he can hear Louis from inside, smell the ocean in his skin, and feels the next move he makes before it happens.  He falls into a space where he intuitively knows the answer to every question he’s ever asked, and a moment later falls further, to a place where there are no questions at all, no reason ever to ask one.

Every time they arch together is a new peak, where just breathing in and out brings its own new height of perfection, and the only word Harry can make his mouth say is “God.”  

In and out, tongues are licking and tasting. god. 

Hips go concave, oh god, in a slow curl into silky Louis heat, god.

In and out, lungs settle into breathing deep after panting for so long “… aah, god.”

Up and down, his ear hears a moan that sounds like Louis’ flute filled with gravel oh, “Oh god.”

In and out, lips are on his closed eyes and a finger presses over his eyebrow, and then a hand is in his hair “oh god, oh _God_.” 

His nipple is suckled on, teeth brushing against it, and this is _Louis_ , Louis who loves him “Huh, fuck… God …”

Up and down, abs go tense when Louis’ length presses against them, heavy and hot, dragging across the hair there “ooh fucking … GOD.”

Up and down, and up again; this time a squeeze pulses around him and it’s Louis, he loves Lou more than anything, his beloved “huh, huh, Lou, _GOD_ … baby … FUCK.”

Louis is over him with his jaw dropped and his fringe in damp pieces over his forehead, eyes staring down at Harry’s chest, two degrees this side of shattered.  His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s trying to figure something out, or piece something together, or make something fit. Harry wishes he could take his cheeks in his hands, but he can only call out again and when their eyes meet here it comes rising up at him so fucking fast because Louis is suddenly climbing and falling at twice his pace, taking Harry along with him. Come get me, Harry thinks, spinning with the relief he doesn’t have to push it back again because he can’t, not anymore.

“Baby,” Louis whimpers, “I have to…” his eyes are imploring and he’s shaking his head like an apology as he bumps up the tempo again.  It’s ok, Harry thinks, it’s so, so okay, love.  Louis’ face buckles in on itself, oh, the fucking GODS, blue eyes trying to hold on to Harry’s but go adrift in the tremors that are making his thighs shake. His fingers grip down on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry can hear the rhythmic bump of the chair’s front legs hitting the floor each time they rock.

“It’s ok baby, let’s … let’s…” but the rest is lost because Louis’s pace that had started at strenuous is swiftly rising up to demanding and then smashing straight into unforgiving and his body needs him to take one last gulp of air, as if he’s going to take a long dive underwater.  He gets it in just before he feels his lungs seize.

“Now, baby, undo me nownow,” he gasps, and Louis yanks the loops of the ties with his thumbs and Harry’s arms come scooping around him, engulfing his torso with long fingers pressing into his skin. One reaches Louis shoulder and the other is around his waist, pulling him down and down, hard over his cock. They are one muscle with endless grasping tightening pieces, pulsing around each other around and against and through the battery of it coming for them, turning to face it, letting it wash over them head on instead of turning their backs on it. Thank Christ Louis is holding on tight.

Harry grunts out a growling sob, the only way he can express this, because all the softness is gone now, and the hard edge of the wave is ripping through him soundly,  punching its way from the inside out, and he can’t squeeze his eyes shut hard enough, can’t grit his teeth against it tight enough, can’t get close enough to Louis, can’t hold it in place still enough, because it’s already slipping through his fingers; his forehead presses against Louis’ collarbone, slipping with sweat across it and down, and there is warm wetness between them and a hand holding his head and a slick trembling mouth uttering nonsense sounds against his ear. Louis’ arms are so strong they are crushing him in a pleasant convulsion. There is a hot blurt of come trickling down over his chest, thank every single god, and Harry feels it skittering away already, the wave that pushed him under, and he breaks back into the world with an inhale that’s like being revived on the shoreline.

Louis is wonderfully heavy on him, spent and sweaty and breathing hard like he’s just run a sprint. There is a last ripple and their foreheads land together. Harry’s skin is tingling everywhere, and his heart is pounding hotly; he grabs for Louis’ hand and presses it to his chest in a clumsy slap. There are adjustments, then stretching, and Harry slides out making Louis wince and scowl. He feels Louis’ lips on his closed eyes and then on his open mouth, which he can’t make into a shape.

Louis is thirsty again, and sweaty, and he’s so, so tired. “How deep’s the ocean, baby?” he asks against Harry’s loose lips.

Harry’s hands are trembly as they reach up, at last stroking into Louis’ soft hair, and his eyes close. He can’t be sure if he is saying it out loud. “How high’s the sky?”

< x x <

They are on the floor in a sprawl across the room from the bed. Those ten feet had been too much for them to wrap their minds around when they had collapsed out of the chair, so they had simply tucked around each other on the coarse sisal rug.

“Lou.”

The only answer Harry gets is a breath.  There is a shift of Louis’ arm over him and a kiss between his shoulderblades.

“Lou,” one step louder.

There is hair brushing against his back, while a finger traces the angry marks that the chair rails left in Harry’s skin.

“Baby?”

A breath. A kiss. “Hmm?”

He winces because he doesn’t want to say it. “Love, we left our flip-flops at Liam’s.”

A grumble, and then a chuckle that sounds like bells. “Bloody fucking _hell_.” A pause. “ I’ll be right back.” He gets to his feet with a groan, and Harry can hear him rifling around for his shorts. His footsteps are receding, but then here they come getting closer again, and he feels a breeze over his face. Next Louis’ warm breath is at his cheek. He can’t open his eyes for anything in the world.

“Clever.” 

Kiss. 

“Beautiful.” 

Kiss. 

“Studly.” 

Kiss. 

“Tantric.” 

Kiss. 

“Ninja.” 

Kiss. 

“Sleep, ninja,” and he feels the thin sheet from their bed covering him. Louis’ pattering footsteps retreat and disappear.

Harry is almost too tired to smile. I’m luckier, he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> What song was Louis singing to Harry on the tour bus? I couldn't decide between Gavin DeGraw's "Belief" and a mellow version of "Wild Horses." I eventually decided to leave it open because it seemed jarring to be too specific. But I'm curious to hear any of your ideas, or your comments on anything else.  
> I am myownsparknow on Tumblr  
> Love Always Wins.


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